


The Unspeakable King and the Silent Queen

by Immanuel



Category: Horus Heresy - Various Authors, Warhammer 40.000, Warhammer 40k (Novels) - Various Authors
Genre: Age of Strife, Gen, Legio Custodes, Silent Sisterhood, Unification Wars
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-11-09
Updated: 2017-11-09
Packaged: 2019-01-31 07:07:14
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 865
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12676878
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Immanuel/pseuds/Immanuel
Summary: A soulless girl and a monstrous tyrant will determine the future of Albia and mankind.





	The Unspeakable King and the Silent Queen

THREE DAYS EARLIER the Emperor of Mankind had entered the Albian parliament alone and unarmed. To either side of Him, the hundreds of warlords of the warrior clans and castellans of the castram-cities had sat on tiered rows of crimson benches, wearing an eclectic array of cloaks and furs, plate armour and exo-suits. The very image of techno-barbaric splendour. He had come before them humbly, robed in white marked with the heraldic cross of another time, another life.  
  The scene repeated itself, almost.  
  A step behind came His guardians, armed for war in stark contrast to their king. Constantin Valdor and Jasac Jasaric towered over the Emperor in suits of thunderstruck gold, scarlet cloaks and spear hafts hovering a hair’s breadth above the blue carpet. Behind masks of impassive auramite, the Emperor’s Custodians surveyed the faces of the assembled lords, judging them. Many were dissatisfied with the decision of the majority, though they were wise enough to realise they could not stand divided. Perhaps they would prove wise enough to recognise the futility of rebellion, too. Constantin and Jasac marked out those they found wanting to one another over the closed-net radioracle.  
  The hushed murmur in the chamber died to absolute silence when Jenetia Krole and Celia Harroda followed. The Emperor had insisted they accompany Him, against Constantin’s counsel and even despite their own protestations. They were resplendent in silver armour, long hair bound in topknots dyed red to match the plumes on the Custodians’ tall helms. They might as well have walked in with bloodstained hands and blades drawn for some of the looks they received, but others looked on them with something approaching awe. Both made Jenetia uncomfortable. Without the benefit of even a half-helm to conceal her face, it took a conscious effort to keep a grimace at bay.  
  Ahead of the Emperor was a stepped dais, on which sat a simple oak chair. Once, not so many years ago, an elaborate throne of jewelled gold would have occupied the position. It did not matter, for the Master of Mankind needed no golden throne to proclaim His majesty. Constantin and Jasac took up their positions to either side of the throne, planting their guardian spears only when the Emperor had taken His seat. His throne. Jenetia and Celia halted on the first of the three steps. Though they kept their eyes fixed impassively ahead, Jasac did not doubt they had picked out any psykers in the chamber just as he and Constantin had identified the malcontents. He passed his hidden gaze across those lords who seemed most discomfited, and wondered idly if they realised they were feeling only a small measure of the dread the witchseekers could unleash.  
  A bell began to toll, and from each side of the parliament chamber came one of the chosen representatives of Albia. From the left, clad in an emerald cloak over white carapace chased with snarling blue lions, Lady Garro, Warchief of Clan Garovidian and Speaker for the Lords Martial. From the right, matching the Custodians’ bulk if not their height in hulking ironside armour, Lord Caine, Constable of the Black Tower and Chancellor of the Castellans’ Guild.  
  As they met across the aisle, golden chains lowered the last royal jewel into their waiting hands. No crown for the warrior-kings of Albia. Said to have been forged in the Otherworld for the legendary Titan-King of Old Albia, the _Kingsblade_ was half as large again as the heaviest broadsword and far too massive for any normal man to wield. The servo-musculature in Lord Caine’s armour took the weight easily while Lady Garro loosed the thick chains from around the black leather scabbard.  
  When they approached the dais they did not, as expected, ascend the steps to lay it before the Emperor. Instead they turned, kneeling before Jenetia. The servos in Lord Caine’s armour snarled in protest at a movement they were never designed to perform.  
  “What are they doing?” Jasac asked over the radioracle, whilst outwardly he remained silent and unmoving.  
  “Doing it their way,” Constantin replied with less confusion and more concern than Jasac. He didn’t like them kneeling to the Emperor’s daughter instead of the Emperor Himself, but he trusted Jenetia to respond appropriately. As ever, he moved only at the word and the will of the Emperor.  
  Jenetia hesitated, looking to the Emperor for guidance. Her father simply smiled at her and nodded. He knew. Of course He knew.  
  She turned back to the kneeling Lord Caine and Lady Garro, grasping the oversized hilt they proffered with both hands. Jenetia pulled the _Kingsblade_ free, revealing the much-faded inscription in Archaic Gothic – a string of unclear or half-formed letters ending _rex_ , which gave the sword its name. She was barely able to lift the titanic sword, settling instead for resting the point on the ground. For all its ceremonial quality, the monosteel edge sank through the carpet and bit an inch into the stone beneath. Even then it was almost as tall as she was.  
  Before she had a chance to turn and offer the blade to the Emperor, the warlords and castellans of Albia stood and roared as one.  
  “ _Long live the Queen!_ ”


End file.
